Erised means Desire
by TheLittleFreak
Summary: And what do they desire? Let's find out! I, the Author, delve deep(ok, not so deep for some) into the psyche of HP characters with the help from everyone's favorite Mirror.


Once upon a time Dumbledore had a mirror. And we all very well know that this certain mirror would tell whatever the person looking into it most desired. So one day, he pulled that mirror back out of his **sock** closet and hung it right smack in the center of the Great Hall. No one knows exactly why (Except for me. I asked him to do it so I could write this and embarrass everybody. Yay for me), but who cares? Naturally, the happy (see naïve) little citizens of Hogwarts were rustled up and put in a line in front of the mirror. . . (Just a note from the top of the author's notes: I own none of these happy little characters, and if I've forgotten any of them, let me know so I can reveal their deepest darkest secrets too. Thank you.)

* * *

First in line, surprisingly (not—I just wanted to get him out of the way so we could REALLY get cooking), was Professor Binns. He floats slowly up to the mirror, his usual boring expression in place. But now it's gone, as his eyes slowly open wide in wonder at what he sees.

"It's me. . .killing all the students. That's odd, I never thought about it. . .But why not? I don't need them to teach! I don't need anyone to teach—forever!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(where is that maniacal laughter coming from?)

He floats away, wringing his hands as he's thinking about the possibilities. It does not need to be said that everyone gives him a wide berth—a VERY wide berth.

Good thing he's not solid—and that I'm not sleeping here tonight…

* * *

Next up is Cedric—even though he's dead (once again, being the Author gives me access to all characters. Even dead ones. My job RULES!). He walks briskly up to the mirror, stares for about five seconds, and turns to me in annoyance. 

"Oh, it's just me being alive. DUH—why wouldn't I want that? You brought me back to the dead just to show me THAT? You writers are just so. . .so. . .oh, never mind, I'm not going to argue with you, I'm leaving.

And so I let him. Hey, I may be manipulative, but I'm not evil. Right?. . .RIGHT? . . .

Whatever.

* * *

So Cho trudges up to the mirror, sniffling and staring at the spot where Cedric disappeared. But she quickly forgot all about HIM. 

"I'm—I'm—dating someone that's NOT involved with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And he's HOT!!!!!! Who is he? What's his fireplace number?"

"He's not real, Cho."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!" She burst into tears again, and made the area around the mirror very soggy before we could get her to leave. I Vanished the huge puddle so we could continue...

* * *

And now comes someone I had been waiting for—Crabbe. I can't help but wonder as he plods closer—what kind of strange desires could a mind like this hold? What would we learn about the completely-hidden brain of Vincent Crabbe? 

I was to be sorely disappointed. Crabbe had to be stopped from trying to break open the mirror to get to the pie inside.

Pie. Go figure.

* * *

And Dean. Oh, Dean. It only took one step for his long legs to reach the mirror, but what he saw was another of those that's already so apparent. Dean—just a simple artist yearning to paint wizard portraits for a living. 

Kinda nice to get one so simple, really…

* * *

Oop, there's Dobby. He's been bouncing all the way down the Great Hall with excitement, so I moved him up to the front of the line—if not just to get him to stop bouncing and annoying everybody. 

"Oh, MISS! A 12-ton box of socks, each one a different color and pattern! Oh, miss, could it be really possible?" he started to twitch in excitement again, so I fed him a Calming draught so he wouldn't restart with the bouncing and knock over the Mirror.

* * *

Ahh, here's one I've been wanting to see—Dumbledore. We all guessed he was lying when he said what he wanted were socks. 

At last, it's time for the moment of truth.

Dangit.

Turns out he wasn't lying. He really DID want thick woolen socks.

Who woulda thunk it.

* * *

Fleur's stepping up to the mirror—turning heads with all that silver hair and huge eyes. Great. Now I feel ugly. But the expression on her face is classic. 

". . .Gabrielle? But she's not even in school yet! How'd she get here—artistic license?"

Her head turns so quickly, her head looks like a silver Cousin IT. Apparently, she has no idea what's going on. She's beautiful AND clueless—what guy wouldn't love her?

"Hey, cool down, Fleur, it's not a real mirror. It only shows you deepest darkest desire." Which makes me wonder—she wants her sister?

* * *

"Oh, hello, Professor Flitwick." 

He's standing about 5 feet back, staring at a butterfly that just landed on his really long nose.

"Hmm? It's my turn already?" he trots up to the mirror. Wow, he's short—he stands on his toes just to see his waist. But apparently he likes what he sees.

"I'm six feet tall!!" He starts to flex his arms, grinning like his mouth is about to fall off. "And really _buff_!!!"

I had to pry him away from the mirror, as he was now totally engrossed with his flexing. Which in my opinion looks kinda scary.

* * *

"OK, next up is Fred..." 

Both Fred and George walk up, smirking at who knows what.

"Did you not just hear me? I said _FRED, _not _TWINS…_"

"Well, everyone knows what we want,"

"So we figured we'd come up together and save you the trouble…" they flash me a pair of identical grins. Good grief, they're _flirting _with me!

"We're simple guys, and what we want is simply…

"A gag good enough to fool Dumbledore,"

"And your fireplace number,"

Hmm… They're right. So they walk a little ways away, fighting over the small strip of parchment I gave them.

(With my number on it. Hey, you may laugh, but I like funny men, and getting two for the price of one is a pretty sweet deal. Plus, redheads are hot.)

* * *

Oh, great. I now have to deal with the most unpleasant character in Hogwarts— (besides Snape, but he's an entirely different ball game.)Filch. 

Fortunately, it does not take long. He already knows what he wants—Fred and George hanging from the ceiling by their toes. And as soon as he tells me, he goes sprinting after them waving his chains and screeching about the Dungbomb they put in his underpants

Heheheh…(a little secret--that wasn't them...)

* * *

Now, I rather like Ginny, she's such a sweet gel, we're actually quite good friends. Which is why I let her cut in line—**I** want to see what **she** wants NOW so I can blackmail her with it. 

So she walks up rather confidently, takes a peek in the Mirror, and immediately has to be restrained. Surprisingly, she puts up a better fight than Crabbe.

"Harry…with his shirt off…SO HOT…Gah!"

…I think I'll just leave that one alone for now.

* * *

Well. I guess I'll just get Goyle out of the way. I was interested before, but I expected too much of the other one. His greatest desire will probably be cookies or something. 

…Or…not.

I hope Draco didn't see that one. The thought that one of his cronies wants to throttle him more than anything else just MIGHT be a little disturbing to him.

* * *

"Hagrid…that MUST be you." 

…Man, he's big.

"My tur', right? Now, let's see…" it's taking him a while to get into a position where he can actually crouch down and look in. This involves everyone behind him moving, which takes even longer.

Now that he's in a position where he can see, I don't think he can—his eyes have gone all misty.

"Norbert?" his voice is all choked up, like he's going to cry. "My little Norbert? He's so **beautiful**…" He starts beckoning to the Mirror.

"Come to Mommy, Norbert. Come to Mommy!"

It's obvious he has no intention of leaving. Unfortunately, all the security is still busy with Ginny, so I have to shove him out of the way myself.

…I hope he doesn't just lay there the whole time.

* * *

Hey, Harry's here! But he doesn't look that interested. In fact, he's giving a disgusted little snort as he trots up the steps. 

"Please. I've done this before, and I'll do it again, and I already KNOW that what I want most is my dead family!"

He smirks as he peers inside.

"See? There's Mum, Dad, that guy with the funny knees, my—" he freezes. And leans closer to the glass, eyes wide open in shock.

"S-Sirius?"

Not again. I'm still out of breath from shoving that great behemoth over there!

But it IS Harry… I have a backup plan for when it comes to an Emo!Harry…

I blow the whistle hanging around my neck. A pack of crazy fangirls (Ginny at the front, I note) promptly come from behind Hagrid and tackle Harry, burying him in a squeeing pile on the other side.

* * *

At this point, I take a lunch break, hoping that when I get back, Hagrid will have regained consciousness and quelled the Mongol—I mean Fangirl—horde. 


End file.
